


have you ransomed your soul for all that you've got wrong?

by the_crownless_queen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brainwashing, Cult!au, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 17:48:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14720768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_crownless_queen/pseuds/the_crownless_queen
Summary: "That's Harry. He's Sybill's... son." :: In which Sybill collects runaways, and nothing is as it seems.





	have you ransomed your soul for all that you've got wrong?

When he's sixteen, Neville runs away from home because his family can't stop seeing someone he'll never be whenever they look at him.

" _Why can't you be a little more like your father?"_  they tell him. " _He was a great man — saved a lot of lives,"_  they said, as though Neville doesn't know that his father being a 'great man' isn't the reason why he's only ever seen his parents in a hospital bed, staring at him blankly.

Their questions kill him a little more every time he hears them, and one night he realizes that if he stays, if they continue (and they've never shown any sign they were going to stop, not ever) then one day there'll be nothing left of him — just a shell of a boy, staring at the world blankly.

_Just like his father._

(Sometimes, he thinks that's what they want.)

He doesn't want to become that. He wants to  _live_ , wants to be  _something_  — and so he leaves.

.

He's been on the streets for two months when Sybill finds him. She takes one look at him, smiles and offers him a home.

And Neville shouldn't, he knows he shouldn't — homes aren't always as safe as they should be — but the nights are cold and they're only getting colder, so he says yes.

"But only for the winter," he says, and tries not to let his stomach roil as Sybill smiles back, eyes glimmering triumphantly behind her large glasses.

And he really does plan to leave in the spring, but…

But there is a girl called Ginny there, with hair like fire and a smile that looks wild, and she decides they should be friends.

(Neville's never had a friend before).

.

Ginny leaves home at eleven. She doesn't really mean to — she was really just stretching her legs, trying to stave off the frustration that made her grit her teeth and caused her eyes to burn.

But her mother's words echo in her mind and they  _sting_. "Girls don't fight, Ginny,", "I found this lovely dress you should try on, dear," and Ginny knows her mother means well, but trying to fulfill her expectations is killing her, little by little.

So she takes off one nice summer day and she just… keeps walking.

She travels for days until she stumbles upon a sort of camp, tired and aching in places she didn't know could ache. It's night, and she sneaks in to try to find some food and water, but she gets caught.

Sybill is weird, but she doesn't report Ginny. Instead, she offers Ginny a new home, one where she'll be able to do what she wants.

"I won't have to wear dresses?" she asks, and Sybill laughs.

"Not if you don't want to."

There are rules, of course, to this place Sybill calls Hogwarts, but they're much better rules than the ones she had at home.

Here, Ginny can be whoever she wants to be and no one cares as long as she helps out where she can.

And Sybill lets her decide what she wants to do — and Ginny can help out with the gardens instead of cooking, and it doesn't matter how dirty she gets her clothes. She can learn to fight and people only look at her proudly — they  _encourage_  her — instead of rolling their eyes and ask her when she'll stop playing.

No one had ever really done that before. It's like Sybill tells her, she  _belongs_ here. Her brothers had humored her when she said she wanted to play with him, but here the boys  _want_  her on their team. Here she can be as daring as she wants to be, and no one minds.

Missing her family seems like such a small cost for finding a place where she can find herself. Besides, it's as Sybill says: "Family doesn't end with blood."

Ginny likes the sound of that, and so she stays.

.

She's fifteen, almost sixteen, when Neville gets there. She's on her way to class that day — Sybill insists they're educated properly, and every year they're inspected and told to be on their best behavior.

(Ginny always hates those — hates the way the woman visiting always looks at them with pity and contempt, hates that someone she doesn't know could make her newfound utopia crumble so easily if she wanted to. She always breathes a sigh of relief when she sees that woman go, shaking hands with Sybill after deciding that everything's in order.)

She's in a hurry today though. Even though the teacher doesn't really mind it if she's late, Ginny prefers to be on time. But today there had been snow, and it had looked so pristine and inviting that she hadn't been able to resist lying down in it for a few moments, making half a dozen angels before time caught up to her.

She's in such a hurry that she doesn't notice the new boy standing next to Sybill until she runs right into him, falling backward into a pile of snow.

Sybill laughs gently as she pulls Ginny up before introducing her to the shy-looking boy by her side.

"Ginny, this is Neville," she says. "He'll be joining us for the winter."

Ginny smiles and bites back a laugh. She's seen the lost look in Neville's eyes many times in the years since Sybill took her in. There's no way he'll stay for just the winter. "Hi," she says.

"Hi," Neville stutters back, cheeks flushing red.

Sybill chuckles and pats Neville's shoulder once. She nods at Ginny. "Why don't you finish his tour of the place, Ginny? I'll tell your teacher not to expect you today."

A chance not to go to class today? She's sold.

Sybill turns back to Neville. "Ginny's been with us for several years now. She's one of our brightest-" and Ginny doesn't even try to hide how that fact makes her grin, "you'll be in good hands."

Neville nods, wringing his hands. "Sure. If you think it's best."

I do," Sybill replies. The bottom of her purple dress trails in the snow as she leaves, and Ginny stares after her, feeling something very close to awe burn in her throat.

It's a great honor for her to be trusted with welcoming someone new, and she almost can't believe she's so lucky.

She only turns to face Neville when Sybill's gone out of sight. He's carrying a single bag and he's also slightly shivering, and just like that, Ginny knows where they should go first.

"Come on, I'll take you to your room," she says, already starting to walk there. "You might have to share though… I'm not sure we have a single room free yet." She eyes him again, takes in his age and quiet demeanor, and hums slowly as her mind starts to race. "Maybe you could stay with Harry for a while," she says, and yes, the more she thinks about it, the more she likes that idea.

"Harry?" Neville asks, frowning in confusion.

Ginny smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, I forgot you're new here. Of course you don't know Harry yet. He's Sybill's… son."

"She has a son?"

Ginny shrugs. "I think she adopted him as a baby," she says, because no one really talks about it but everyone knows the story anyway. "He's more of an heir than a son, though. I think."

Neville is starting to look a little overwhelmed and Ginny bites her lips. She can't screw this up now — not when Sybill entrusted her with this. "He's very nice, you'll see."

It's true. If there's a kinder soul than Harry, Ginny hasn't met them — and yes, she counts Sybill amongst those too.

She rubs her hands together to fight off the cold and starts walking again — she hadn't even realized that they'd stopped — but pauses only a few feet away when she realizes Neville isn't following her.

"What…?"

"Did you drop this?" he asks, shoulders drawn in tight as he hands her a notebook and a couple of colored pens.

Ginny blinks and takes them off of him. "Yes. Sorry, I didn't even notice I had left them behind." She chuckles, wiping off the snow still sticking to the glossy cover of her notebook. Some of the pages are a little wet at the edges, but overall everything is salvageable.

"Thank you."

Neville smiles back. It wobbles a little around the edges, but it's already much better than anything he's done until now.

 _Yes_ , Ginny thinks,  _he'll fit in nicely here with us._

.

As they walk toward what will apparently be his future room, Ginny tells him a bit more about his future roommate. Neville is only half-listening, though, as he keeps getting distracted by this place.

Hogwarts, Sybill had called it, and the name still sounds as ridiculous now as it had back then.

Still, there's an odd kind of charm to it. Something… mysterious, almost magical, and it fits with the impression he got from Sybill very well. He can see why she chose it.

It's in the countryside, sort of in the middle of nowhere — they had to drive for  _hours_  past long stretches of nothing to get there. Neville hadn't even realized Britain had that much land before.

But then again, this has its own appeal. No one will find him here, he's sure of it — that is, if they even bother to look.

And to be honest, Neville isn't even sure if he wants them to.

Hogwarts, he notes, seems to be some sort of cross between a village and a camp. There doesn't seem to be much in the way of technology, which is odd but comforting, seeing as he wasn't really allowed any at home either and being the one kid at school without a phone had always set him apart.

Still, he pays enough attention to Ginny to hear that Harry — his future roommate — is his age. She sounds surprised to hear that he and Neville almost share a birthday when Neville shyly remarks on it after she mentions Harry being born on the last day of July, but after that initial surprise, her smile only widens.

For some reason, it only seems to convince her that Harry and he will get along well.

"It would be nice," Neville muses quietly, "to have a friend."

He doesn't realize he's spoken out loud until Ginny punches him in the arm, grinning. "What are you talking about? You already have a friend. I'm right here."

And Neville… Well, Neville very pointedly does not tear up at that.

.

Harry turns out to be a boy Neville's size — a little shorter, perhaps — with brown skin, black hair and vivid green eyes.

He's also surprisingly… normal, compared to what he's heard from Ginny. The way she had described him, Neville had half-expected a god, or perhaps an angel. But no, Harry is just a boy.

He makes the mistake of blurting that out once Ginny's gone and it's just the two of them, and Harry startles, looking at him with something strange shining in his eyes.

At first, Neville thinks it's anger and he shrinks back on himself a little bit, but then Harry smiles and he realizes that it was not.

It's odd, how fake Harry's earlier smile seems now that he's seen a real one.

.

They become friends, the three of them. Neville and Ginny first, then Neville and Harry, and finally all three of them just… gravitate toward each other.

Ginny and Harry are learning how to fight — though they never really do mention why — and so Neville joins them. He's terrible at it, of course, but for once in his life, no one mocks him for it.

Instead, Ginny teases him as Harry pulls him up from the ground when he trips, and then she demonstrates the move again until he, miraculously, gets it right.

But his favorite place at Hogwarts are the greenhouses. He's surprised to see them the first time, but Ginny explains that they grow almost all of their own food, and then it makes sense. It's winter, after all. They can hardly  _not_  use greenhouses if they want to feed everyone.

The one responsible for them is a plump woman called Pomona, and the instant she sees Neville coo over tiny bean sprouts, she takes him under her wing.

That night, at dinner, Sybill tells him how proud she is to see him help the community. She tells him she can see a great future ahead of him, and everyone cheers.

Everyone cheers for  _him_ , for his skills, and Neville realizes that he never wants to leave this place or these people.

It's crazy to think that he ever thought otherwise. That he ever thought Sybill was anything but kind, or wanted anything but to help them.

.

Ginny's favorite lessons at school are always Sybill's. They're so much more interesting than  _maths_ , or  _English_ , and the way Sybill's eyes always seem to single every single person out of that room never fails to make her (and everyone else) feel special.

It's just unfortunate that Sybill's always so busy and can only give one lesson every other month.

"Oh, I'm so excited," she whispers to Neville, who sits at the desk beside hers. "It feels like it's been forever since Sybill last gave a lesson!"

It's only been two months, of course, but it always feels longer. Though these last couple of months, ever since Neville showed up, have passed by more quickly than they would have before.

Or so it feels, anyway.

Neville frowns at his desk, fingers tapping against the dark wood. "What does she teach, anyway? My timetable just said Divination, but…that doesn't make any sense."

Ginny chuckles. She remembers when she was young and just arrived here. She remembers her first lessons.

She had been a skeptic then too — but not for long.

"You're in for a treat," she whispers back eagerly. "Sybill always makes more of an effort when we have a newcomer."

She can see that Neville is perking up in his seat, and she's about to add more when Harry strolls in.

He's dressed differently than usual, and gold glints in his hair. He looks at ease, relaxed even, as he lights up candles and sticks of incense and leaves them in every corner of the room.

He moves with an almost feline grace, and Ginny's lips almost quirk up at the sudden memory of a much younger Harry trailing after Sybill and struggling to reach the candles. But she's too entranced for those memories to hang out for long, and they dispel like smoke on the wind.

The sweet smell of incense floods the room quickly and Harry goes back to stand behind the door, a solemn guard. In this moment, Ginny can truly see why Sybill chose him to be her successor.

At her side, Neville whispers, "Why doesn't he come to sit with us?"

It startles Ginny out of her trance-like state a little, but she bites back on her annoyance. It's hardly Neville's fault that he doesn't know what's proper in these lessons yet. After all,  _she_  had been the one to give him a welcome tour, and since then they've spent nearly every moment together.

If anyone should have warned Neville, it should have been her.

She feels terrible about having forgotten to do that, and so she urgently whispers back an explanation, even though it's definitely not something she's supposed to do now. She feels dark looks on her back as the other students start to glare at her, but Ginny focuses on Neville instead. Neville, who needs her help now.

"Harry's always Sybill's assistant in this class," she tells Neville. "One day, he'll even replace her."

Neville does look properly awed at that, though she can tell he's also still not convinced about the lesson in itself.

But before Ginny can think any more about whether or not she should tell Neville more about the lesson or let him experience it for himself, Sybill arrives.

Like Harry, she strolls in, her colorful dress shrouding her body almost like mist. Unlike Harry, however, she does truly look otherworldly — Harry is starting to, though, but he clearly has a long way to go to get there, while on Sybill it looks effortless.

"Welcome," Sybill starts, her voice raspy and grave, "to Divination!" She turns directly to Neville, and Ginny's excitement turns into elation. She can't wait to see what Sybill has planned for this lesson, what she will See in Neville's past or future — she usually focuses on the future, since all of them shed their past when coming here, but sometimes the past is too strong to be ignored.

She can't wait to see Neville start to believe.

With grand, sweeping gestures of her arms, Sybill starts to describe the principles of Divination for Neville, and Ginny finds herself mouthing them along with her.

"Calm." A calm mind is necessary to reach into one's inner conscience and stretch it beyond oneself.

"Knowledge." How can you know the future if you don't even know yourself?

And finally, "The Inner Eye." The rarest of abilities, the most mysterious — and one that Sybill possesses and uses to protect them.

Once Sybill's done, Ginny turns to Neville. She grins when she sees the look on his face: it's like he's in shock, and she valiantly resists the urge to pat his hand.

Sybill's always like this in class. Oh, she's dramatic and mysterious out of it too, but apart from class, she rarely truly shows who she is.

It's one of the reasons Divination classes have always felt so special.

And here comes the other.

While Ginny had been thinking, Sybill had gone back up to her desk and taken out a teapot and several teacups.

With a nod to her assistant, Harry starts to hand them out.

At the last minute though, her hand shoots out and grabs his arm. With a small smile, she adds another, plainer cup.

"For Neville," she says. "You can give him the first one once he breaks this one. It's my favorite set," she tells the class. "I don't really want to lose it," she adds, and it's only half a joke.

When moments later, Neville does break the first cup Harry gives him, Ginny can't fight the small gasp that escapes her lips.

It always gets her, when Sybill's predictions come true. Even when it's something as small as this.

She can see that Neville is shaken too. He looks at Sybill differently too, and something in Ginny is thrilled to see it.

She spends the rest of the lesson grinning, even though she doesn't really manage to get anything from her tea leaves until Sybill comes and reads them for her.

 _Love_ , she says.  _And something unexpected_.

(Was it just her, or did Sybill's eyes flicker to Neville when she said 'Love'?

But no, it can't be…can it?)

In the end, the lesson ends too quickly — but then again, Divination always does. Sybill leaves the room the same way she'd entered it, Harry close on her heels, and Ginny pops her back, letting out a tired but content sigh.

"Come on," she tells Neville, still smiling. "We should go find a place to rest."

Neville frowns. His pupils are blown wide, Ginny is pleased to note. He must have been trying very hard to see beyond the Veil.

"Why?" he asks.

Ginny shrugs, grabbing his arm and pulling him up. Together, they gather their school supplies and set out for the door, same as everyone else.

The cold outside air makes her shiver when it hits her skin, but she breathes it deep with relish. It chases off the incense smell that still clings at the back of her throat, and her head clears up a little.

"We always have the rest of the day off after Sybill's classes," she explains now that they're out of the classroom. "They can get a little…intense, so we need the time to recuperate."

She almost flushes red when she realizes she's basically quoted Sybill word for word, and she coughs to hide her embarrassment.

"Oh," Neville says, "that makes sense, I guess. This was…" He seems to be at a loss for words and Ginny grins, nudging him in the arm playfully.

"Impressive, right? You were lucky, she doesn't always make such an effort to impress in class."

"But how did she know about the cup?"

Ginny shrugs. "She probably Saw it." She takes one look at Neville and groans, coming to a stop. "Oh, come on. After all this, you can't tell me you still don't believe in what she can do."

Neville shakes his head. "I do, I do, it's just…how does she do it?"

"Who knows how Sybill does anything?" Ginny laughs and shrugs again. "She just has the Sight. Sometimes, she gets visions. We're lucky to have her," she adds fervently.

A cloud passes through Neville's eyes. "I…yes, you're right. We are lucky, aren't we?"

.

"I still don't get it," Neville tells her. Sybill's lesson had been over for at least an hour now and they're half-sitting, half-lying in an out of the way corner of Neville's favorite greenhouse. With the sun shining brightly through the glass windows of the greenhouse, it feels more like summer than winter, and Ginny is pleasantly warm.

This is much better than what she usually does after one of Sybill's lessons, which is lay on her bed and contemplate the universe.

Well, she's still doing that, but at least she's not alone here.

She twists her head to look at Neville. "What don't you get?"

Neville frowns, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. "Why does Sybill teaches Divination if you need to have the Inner Eye to See anything?"

Ginny gapes as she realizes the other thing she never told him.

God, he must have been so confused — she's really terrible at this. Sybill would be ashamed.

"There's a ceremony, when we turn seventeen," she tells him, biting her lips to keep from showing her amusement as he immediately perks up.

"A ceremony? What for?"

"Hush, I'm talking," she scolds him with a smile. "Sybill runs it only once every year, on Harry's birthday — the 31st of July." At Neville's inquisitive look, she adds, "The Veil is the thinnest that time of the year, so she gets better visions. And on that day, she can determine who has the Inner Eye too."

She eyes Neville thoughtfully for a few moments. "You might have it, actually, since you were born so close to that day." She sighs. "I wish my chances were that good. But still," she adds, brightening up, "Sybill tells me there's a high chance I might have some variation of the gift."

"Congratulations," Neville says, but he doesn't sound very happy for her.

Ginny frowns. "What is it?"

Neville bites his lips, his eyes avoiding hers nervously. "It's just… No, I'm probably wrong. I've only been there for a short time, you probably know better," he mumbles, so low Ginny almost misses it.

She slaps him on the arm, perhaps with a little too much force as a loud clap fills the silence and Neville flinches. "Sorry," she says, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. "But really, whatever you're thinking about, just spill it. I promise I won't get mad."

Neville bits gnawing on his lips. "It's just...have you ever met anyone older who could See the way Sybill does?" Neville asks, still frowning. "Because I haven't been around many adults here, but none of them seemed to share Sybill's Sight…"

Ginny's elation turns sour in her mouth and she crosses her arms. "Well, maybe they just don't have it. It's very rare, you know," she says, and she hates how defensive the words sound.

"You said you wouldn't get angry," Neville replies, voice small.

"I'm not angry," Ginny retorts, scowling, except that she is. She is, because Neville is new here, and he doesn't get the way things work yet, so how dare he criticize their ways?

She swallows the anger back though, because Neville did tell her she wouldn't want to hear what he had to say, and they're friends. She doesn't want to be mad at a friend, especially one who's just misguided.

"Maybe they're just learning," she says, even if, for some reason, she can't be convinced by her own words. "Or maybe they've left, started their own Hogwarts somewhere else," she says, and yes, now that she's thought about this idea she clenches it tight.

That makes sense.

"Has anyone ever left Hogwarts?" Neville asks quietly. He still refuses to look at her, and Ginny wishes he would.

She wishes he would look her in the eyes as he systematically chips at everything she believes, breaking off pieces of her heart in the process.

And then Neville shrugs and pastes a clearly fake smile on his face. "Ah, ignore me, this is probably stupid."

Ginny grasps for the offered excuse like a drowning man clings to his rope. "Yes, that's probably it," she says, and shoves all the doubts Neville just brought up far, far away in her mind.

But despite how hard she tries, she can't just forget them. They're like a poison, seeping through everything, spreading everywhere, and she thinks about it every time her eyes crosses Neville's.

.

She takes almost two weeks to gather up the courage to ask Harry about it.

It's unlike her to be so hesitant at something — usually, she just goes in — but this feels… important, somehow. So much so that she has to find the right words.

Even then, she doesn't think there are any words that would feel  _right_  for what she's trying to ask of her friend.

Ironically enough, she finds herself mirroring Neville's questions, the one she had been so troubled with.

But surely Harry will be able to help her with that. Surely he knows something she doesn't, had some pieces of the puzzle that she's missing…surely he can assuage the frightening disquiet blooming in her chest.

She finds him while he's patrolling the streets, and it doesn't take much to get him to follow her back to her room to talk. Harry may be very dedicated to his duties, but even though winter is finally loosening its hold on the world, it's still very cold outside and the perspective of a warm place would tempt anyone.

"You said you wanted to talk?" he asks her as he sits down, cross-legged, on her bed.

Ginny feels terribly awkward as she sits next to him. She wrings her hands in her lap and her eyes wander off to some point on the wall above Harry's right shoulder.

"Yes. I…" She takes a deep breath. "Neville and I were talking the other day, and he said…" And from there the story spills out.

She tells him how Neville had doubts, how he didn't understand the point of Divination — which Ginny does, she hastens to add — how he kept asking questions and even when she answered them her answers didn't feel right — not because  _she_  doesn't believe in them, of course not, but…

Somehow, Harry seems to be able to follow her rambling, so she can see that he's growing concerned from the way his green eyes darken. When she finally runs out of words, he stays silent for a while too.

"So you want me to convince him, then?" he asks her.

"Well, yes," Ginny replies, heart racing in her chest. She's so excited her hands have started to shake. "I mean, if you don't mind. I thought, since Sybill is your… you know, you would be the best person for that."

Harry nods. "Of course I can help," he tells her, and Ginny doesn't even bother trying not to show how relieved she is.

"You were really worried about this, weren't you?" Harry states softly.

"Yeah," Ginny says. She bites her lips — because the truth is, not  _all_  of her worry is gone.

And Harry is her friend. This isn't something she can bring to Sybill, even if she knows the older woman would be the best one to help her, because she doesn't want Sybill to be disappointed in her.

And she would be. She doesn't know how that'd influence her chances for her ceremony next year, but she doesn't want Sybill's regard for her to diminish.

But Harry won't judge her, and he'll be able to help her, just like he's going to help Neville.

She can trust him with this.

Even so, the words still feel horrible to say, like she's standing on a ledge, about to step off it with no idea if anyone will be there to catch her.

"But… Is there anyone else with the Sight?"

She can see that the question bothers him as much as it did her, and her stomach drops.

"The Sight is a gift," Harry replies. "We can't expect  _everyone_  to receive it." It takes her a long time to realize why those words sound so weird in his mouth — it's because they're Sybill's, even down to the intonation.

"I  _know_  that," Ginny replies, because if there's one thing she believes, it's that. "I just… Did anyone ever pass the ceremony?"

Harry frowns but shakes his head. "Some people came close," he says, letting out a long sigh. "But you know Sybill says it'll be different for our generation." He smiles. "She has a lot of hope for us."

"For you, you mean," Ginny replies, nudging his shoulder teasingly.

Harry huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "For  _you_ , for me — even for Neville. For everyone in our class, who'll be taking part in the ceremony this year of the next."

Sybill has hope for her. It makes Ginny feel warm, and she feels even more stupid to have doubted for even an instant.

What had she even doubted anyway? That Sybill was, what? Running some giant scam on all of them?

That doesn't make any sense. She must still have been affected by the incense from Sybill's lesson, or maybe it was something she had eaten — she had been sneaking fruits directly from the greenhouse whenever she went there with Neville, after all, instead of eating only the prepared meals everyone got in the dining hall.

She laughs, reassured. "Thanks, Harry. You've really helped me."

"You're welcome."

God, she really can't wait for him to talk to Neville too. He'll understand then, she's sure of it.

.

Truth be told, Neville had entirely forgotten he had once told Sybill he wanted to leave once spring came. He thought she had too.

Which is why he's so surprised to see her come to him one morning, just as he's starting breakfast, and ask him to come to her office later in the day to discuss his stay.

"What was that about?" Ginny asks him, chewing on a slice of bread, when he sits down next to Harry and across from her.

Neville shrugs, nonplussed. "I don't know," he says. It's barely a lie anyway. He doesn't know why Sybill wants to talk about his stay  _now_ , when six months ago she had been convinced he'd stay forever, no matter his resolve. "Maybe she wants to move me to a single room?" He jokes.

Ginny brightens up. "Oh, that'd be great. I bet you're getting tired of Harry, aren't you?"

It's hard to say if she's teasing him or Harry with that sentence, but knowing her, it's probably both.

"I guess it'd be nice to have my own room," he replies, chuckling nervously. Luckily, when he checks, Harry doesn't seem offended.

He looks pensive though, and on him, that's even worse. With his attention so fixated on Neville like this, it can't spell anything good.

"What is it?" Neville asks him.

Harry startles, eyes averting to the side. He's lucky his skin is so dark, because Neville is pretty sure he's blushing now — if their situations were reversed, Neville's cheeks would definitely be burning right now.

"Nothing," Harry replies, shaking his head.

He's lying. He looks too nervous not to be, and suddenly Neville's food sits uncomfortably in his stomach.

He forces himself to finish his plate, but he's no longer hungry. Harry's eyes weigh heavily on him, but whatever it is that's bothering him, he doesn't mention it.

It's hard to say whether Ginny notices or not. She seems enamored with the idea of Neville getting his own room — a sure sign he's here for the long haul — and she keeps saying how proud she is of him for coming so far in such a short time.

"You do want to stay here, right?" she asks him at some point in her rant.

"Of course," Neville replies. He's surprised by how much he wants it too, but despite all the things that bug him about this place (Sybill's  _Divination_  most of all), he loves it. He loves the people there, loves that he has friends and a purpose, that this is somewhere he can belong.

Of course he wants to stay.

Ginny smiles at him brightly, but Harry's expression doesn't lighten up. If anything, it darkens and looks more awkward. His eyes avoid Neville's now, and the pit in his stomach deepens.

He's never seen his friend look so obviously tense, and added to Sybill's sudden need to 'discuss his stay', there can only be one explanation for this.

He finishes his plate without tasting anything, and when he stands up, Harry offers to escort him.

"Oh, right." Ginny laughs. "You've never been to Sybill's office." But even her laugh sounds a little forced now, like she's figuring out that not everything is as good as it seems.

Some conversation he can't decipher seems to pass between her and Harry, and Ginny sulkily returns to her food as the boys leave. But Neville can't help but think that it seems…  _wrong_ , somehow, for Ginny to concede so quickly.

"She won't let me stay, will she?" he asks Harry as they walk to Sybill's office. He's grateful for the company, somber as it is — it eases his nerves somewhat, keeps him from becoming a complete wreck at the thought of having to leave this place, of being on the streets again with nowhere to go and nowhere he belongs.

Harry falters, a wince visible on his face. "I don't know," he finally says, voice so quiet Neville almost doesn't hear it.

"But it's not looking good, right?"

Harry hesitates but shakes his head. "I think you still have a shot, though," he offers. "Sybill's fair, she'll hear you out." He pats Neville's shoulder once. "If it helps, I really do think you have a place here, with us."

It does help, and it's worse admitting it out loud for the way Harry's face brightens, just a little.

Much too soon, however, they reach Sybill's door. It somehow looks exactly like Neville had expected it to, and yet nothing like that at all.

The door in itself is nothing special — just a wooden door with a little square window at the top that one could use to peek in — but the decoration surrounding it more than makes up for its simplicity.

Harry chuckles as Neville stops and stares.

"I know," he says. "It's a lot."

It is. Purple and orange ribbons hang from the doorframe, somehow not blocking the door. They end in little bronze bells, and Neville doesn't know whether to be impressed or disturbed, so he settles for both.

Still chuckling, Harry opens the door, revealing that the door was, if anything, tame in comparison to the actual thing. The sickly-sweet of Sybill's incense hangs heavy in the air and Neville can already feel himself get light-headed as he walks further in. Harry seems undisturbed, though, and he stares at Neville with concern.

"Are you al-" he starts to say, but Sybill, who seems to suddenly appear out of nowhere, interrupts him.

"I'll take it from here, if you don't mind, Harry, my dear," she says. "Don't worry," she adds when Harry hesitates, "I'll make sure he's alright. You trust me, don't you?"

"Of course!" Harry sounds offended that she could ever think otherwise, and with an encouraging smile and nod in Neville's direction, he exits the room.

It suddenly feels colder, though he can't really pinpoint why. Sybill guides him to a seat and offers him a cup of tea that Neville accepts but doesn't drink.

Sybill keeps the conversation light at first, waiting for him to relax in his seat. She asks him easy things, like what he thinks of Hogwarts, whether or not he likes it here… She makes it easy to be honest and Neville finds himself answering her questions eagerly.

Eventually though, his mouth feels dry from all the talking and he lifts the cup to his lips. The tea has gone cold now though, and it tastes almost bitter.

Still, he's thirsty enough that it doesn't matter.

Sybill's speech changes then.

"You know," she says, almost absently, "I was really lucky to find you."

Neville blinks rapidly, eyes suddenly bleary. He sets the still half-full cup of tea on a nearby table, and the  _clang_  the porcelain makes as he puts it down makes his head hurt.

But still, Sybill's words give him hope. "What do you mean?"

Sybill smiles. "Well, finding Harry? Now that took some work. But you? A boy so close to Harry you might as well be brothers — twins, from a different mother. I never thought I'd find a second boy who'd fit the Prophecy," she adds. Neville is finding it hard to focus, head listing to the side, but even so, he's pretty sure she didn't intend for him to hear that.

"Prophecies aren't real," he manages to say even though his head is spinning now.

He knows there aren't — fantasy books have Prophecies. Movies have Prophecies.

Real life, though?

People would know it, if Prophecies were a real thing.

Sybill chuckles. "You see, Neville, this is the problem with you. You don't  _believe_. Everyone here, they  _believe_. They believe  _me_ , they believe  _in_  me — they know I'll always tell them the truth.

"But you… You don't, don't you?" She sounds almost sad to hear it.

"No, I don't." The confession falls from his lips before he even realizes he's thought the words, and Neville can feel himself start to panic.

But something's wrong. His panic is sluggish — in fact, every thought in his head feels sluggish, like he's swimming in honey.

"I thought so." Sybill sighs.

Somehow, Neville finds the strength to ask, "Does that mean I can't stay?"

Sybill's hand caresses his face slowly. Neville hadn't realized she had gotten so close — he can't remember her moving. He doesn't remember falling either, but he must have, because his mouth is mashed up against a velvet pillow and he tastes fabric every time he breathes.

"Normally, yes," Sybill says, her voice hypnotically soft. "But you're a special case. You have it — you have the  _Gift_ , I'm sure of it." She speaks fervently, her globulous eyes fever-bright behind her large glasses.

Her hand falls from his face. Oddly, Neville finds himself missing it.

Sybill continues her monologue. "Me finding you now, just as you're about to become seventeen — just in time for your own  _ceremony…_  That has to be a sign," she mumbles.

A sign of  _what?_  Neville wants to ask, but he no longer has a voice.

"And just as I was starting to have my doubts about using Harry, too," Sybill is saying, her voice coming from far away now. "It's such a shame that you couldn't  _believe_  too, but I guess that in the end, it's for the best."

 _What_ , exactly, is 'for the best'? Neville wants to scream. He has a terrible feeling about all this, but he's paralyzed, unable to move.

The last thing he hears before the world finally fades to merciful blackness, freeing his mind of the terrible tendrils of panic that had started to strangle it, is Sybil apologizing.

"I'm truly sorry, Neville. If you had believed… Things would have been different." She shakes her head. "You could have stayed with your friends, enjoyed your last few months together… But you don't believe, and that means I can't have you stay with them.

"I can't have you poison them against me."

He wouldn't, he tries to say, but all that falls from his lips is a small, wordless gasp before his world goes black.

.

Neville doesn't come back from Sybill's office. At first, Ginny assumes that they must have simply missed each other — she's been surprisingly busy today, having been given more tasks to complete than she usually would. Not that she minded, at the time, since it kept her mind off of worrying about Neville and what he and Sybill must be talking about.

Still, when dinner comes and he doesn't come sit at their table, she knows something's wrong.

Worry twisting her guts, she turns to Harry, who's currently pushing peas around on his plate, staring down blankly.

"Do you know where Neville is?"

The question almost hurts to voice, but she forces herself to say it anyway. She didn't come here by being a coward, after all, and she's not about to start now.

When Harry looks back at her, it suddenly feels like they're the only two left in the dining hall, like nothing else matters: just them, and the answer he's about to give her.

"Not here," Harry whispers. "There's a time and place for everything, and this isn't the right one for this conversation."

Ginny's fork screeches against her plate. She holds it so tightly she thinks it might bend, and she forces herself to let it go.

She doesn't do the same with her knife though, and Harry gulps when she points it at him.

"Tell me." Ginny hisses. " _Now_."

"I — He left," Harry says in a hurried tone. His eyes flicker nervously down to Ginny's knife. "It's all I know, I swear — I left him with Sybill, because she wanted to talk to him, and when I came back to our room this afternoon, all this stuff were gone. I asked Sybill, and she told me that after their talk, he'd told her he didn't feel this as the right place for him after all."

In shock, she lets go of her knife. She's glad to see that Harry looks as bewildered by the news as she does, even though it's a meager comfort.

"But he said he wanted to stay." She hates how small her voice sounds. "This must some kind of, of miscommunication. Are you sure you got it right?"

Harry nods grimly. "Maybe he changed his mind?" But even as he says it, Harry sounds dubious.

Still… "If Sybill says it…"

"She does," Harry replies, shoulders bent down. "And I know it seems weird, but Neville probably realized he wanted to leave while talking to her — maybe he only thought he wanted to stay before, when he was with us, but once he was with Sybill he could see clearly, and he realized that this wasn't for him?"

"... I guess," Ginny replies. After all, Sybill  _is_  good at making someone realize things they hadn't even known they wanted. She had only done it to Ginny a few times, but it had impressed her every time.

Her eyes fall back to her plate. It's still more than half full, but suddenly, she's not hungry. Her stomach roils unhappily and she pushes her food away. She wants to feel angry but instead she's just cold, and all she can think about is Neville's shy but happy smile from this morning, when he had told her that of course he wanted to stay.

That can't have been a lie — and yet, evidence proves that it was, if perhaps an involuntary one.

"He didn't even say goodbye," she hears herself say.

"I know," Harry replies. He sounds about as defeated as she feels, and it helps a little, to know that there's someone else out there who understands that. "I know."

"Why wouldn't he say goodbye?"

She's not looking at him, but she can hear him shrug. "I don't know. Maybe… Maybe he couldn't. Maybe he had to leave quickly, and he couldn't find us, so he just grabbed his things and left?"

But even as he says it, Harry seems to realize how absurd it sounds, for his face falls.

"But Sybill said…"

For the first times, those words aren't as reassuring as they should be.

For the first time, Ginny isn't sure she believes them.

It hurts, doubting the one person she thought would always be above reproach. It feels like someone has taken a flame to her soul and is scorching it down — and yet, it doesn't hurt as much as it had, during those awful minutes where she had almost believed Neville could just have left her.

"Whatever happened," Harry finally says, "I'm sure Sybill had good reasons, and that Neville's fine."

She clings to that hope fervently. "I'll miss him, though," she says, throat tight.

"Yeah, me too."

Ginny doesn't eat another bite that evening, even though it's a rare treat — lobster. Her favorite. Harry himself only manages another couple before pushing his plate away too.

They leave the dining hall early.

That night, Ginny dreams of a boy with a smile like sunshine breaking out through the clouds.

When she wakes up, her pillow is still wet with tears and her head hurts.

This will pass, she tells herself, and wills herself to believe it.

.

Neville wakes up in a cell underground.

At least, he thinks it's underground. It's humid and cold, and the walls of his cells are half-packed earth, half-red bricks. He's lying on a cot that stands at one corner of the room. The other sports a rusted sink that rhythmically lets seep out a drop of murky water and a toilet made of chipped white porcelain.

There is an old wooden door and no window, and it looks like an old cellar repurposed as a makeshift cell.

At least the air is pure here and he can breathe without feeling his thoughts go all wonky.

It's easy to guess what must have happened now — Sybill had drugged him. He remembers her rambling about some Prophecy, which apparently had a link to that ceremony everyone kept talking about, but the rest is all jumbled up in his head, and he can't tell which is true from what he might have dreamed up.

He sits up, holding his head gingerly, and swings his feet off the cot. He spots a bottle of water by the closed door and hurried toward it, emptying half of it so quickly he almost chokes on it.

The water does a good job at dissipating the last remnants of unconsciousness that still cling to his mind, and Neville starts to bang on the door as loudly as he can.

"Hey! Is there anyone out here?! Let me out!" Surely someone will hear him.

Surely there is  _someone_  out there — someone has to be.

Someone has to care.

Ginny does. Harry does. They'll look for him — they'll know he didn't want to leave, and they'll look for him. He knows they will.

But then Sybill's treacherous voice echoes in his mind.  _Everyone here believes that I would never lie to them_.

She was right — if she told them he had left, would anyone, even his friends, ever dare to question her?

She hopes they do. He  _prays_  they do.

But he's not sure that he believes they will.

But he keeps pounding on the door until he can't anymore, and he screams until his voice breaks.

And then — only then — does he collapse, back sliding against the wall and head falling between his knees, and sobs.

.

It's hard to track time without daylight. Sybill brings him three meals a day, but sometimes he sleeps when she comes. Sometimes he wakes up and the food is there, long cold, and he has no idea if it's supposed to be lunch or dinner or even breakfast.

Days blur together, and Neville feels like he's going mad.

Is this what it feels like for his parents, staring blankly at a wall all day?

(It's no wonder they're mad.)

He hates that he's started to look forward to Sybill's visits, but they're the only human contact he ever has anymore.

She rarely talks to him or stays for more than a few minutes — just long enough to open the door, slide in a tray with his food, get the old one back and close the door again — but it's enough to remind him that there's a world out there.

That there are people out there.

He tries to escape, of course he does. His grandmother hated the television — called it an abomination of an invention — so he had never been able to see as many movies as kids his age did, but he did see enough to know sometimes prisoners dug tunnels to try to escape.

He just hadn't expected it to be so hard, especially with no idea of where he's going. The side that he guesses faces a tunnel — the side Sybill comes from — is made of thick bricks, and he can't exactly dig through that, but it's his only option, seeing as it's the only way he knows for sure he'd reach an exit.

But of course Sybill catches him — there's only so much room for him to hide the dirt he's dug up, especially when the ochre stains everything. She replaces his cutlery with plastic after that, and those are useless to dig with.

He tries with his hands, but all that does is break his nails.

He goes back to banging on the door and screaming himself hoarse after that. It does nothing, of course — he's learned that much, at least — but a part of him hopes it at least  _inconveniences_  Sybill. He hopes she gets a headache from his shouting, that it keeps her up at night.

It's the least she deserves for doing this to him.

The only thing he knows for sure is that it's summer now. His cell is no longer as cold and damp as it used to be — he no longer shivers all the time, throat constantly itching because of his runny nose — and he thinks his meals are getting further apart, as though dinner was happening a bit later now.

 _July, 31st_. He holds onto that date like a mantra.

It's the date for the ceremony — when Harry turns seventeen, just a day after Neville himself does. It's the day Sybill will let him out, he knows it.

After all, she said she wanted to harness his power for her Prophecy, or whatever that was, and the ceremony is part of that.

It has to be.

He refuses to remember the voice saying  _I'm sorry you couldn't enjoy your last few months with your friends_  and how utterly  _final_  that sounds, because Sybill might be crazy enough to keep him locked up in a glorified cage, but surely she wouldn't go as far as to  _murder_ him now, would she?

But now that he's thought about it, it stays in his mind like an itch he can't scratch. Which is why one day, instead of asking Sybill to 'please, please let him go', he asks her about the ceremony instead.

And to his surprise — or perhaps he shouldn't be surprised, since this ceremony seems to be all that matters to her — she actually answers.

"It's pretty simple, actually," she tells him. "The Prophecy says that the child born when the seventh month dies will have great power, and I plan to absorb this power — with it, I'll truly be the greatest Seer that ever lived."

"What Prophecy?" The question slips out before he can help it — the last thing he wants is for her to believe he's interested in her ridiculous tales — but for the first time in  _months_ , she's talking to him.

For the first time in months, he's hearing a voice that isn't his own, and part of him wants it to last as long as possible.

"Eighteen years ago," Sybills starts, seemingly delighted to be able to tell her tale, "I had a  _vision_  — a  _true_  vision."

"So you admit that you can't See anything then?" Neville asks, bitterly determined to get her to say it, even if no one but him would hear her confession.

Sybill clicks her tongue at him. "The Sight doesn't work on command, Neville. It must be… coaxed. It's an art that very few have the talent for."

"And I suppose you're one of them," he adds dryly in a mutter — but not low enough, because Sybill chuckles.

"Not me, no. But one of my ancestors — Cassandra. Maybe you've heard of her?"

"Nope," Neville says, shaking his head and feeling a burst of glee at her vexed face.

Sybill huffs loudly. "What do they teach you in school nowadays?"

Neville bites back another sarcastic comment on how she'd know, since she's the one teaching them — clearly spending so long in this cell has given him a bit of temper — and lets her continue.

"But yes, the Prophecy." She resumes speaking. "It came to me in a dream, and it foretold the birth of a child. A child who would be born at the end of the seventh month of the following years and who, upon his seventeenth birthday, would inherit a sight like no others."

The thought crystallizes in his mind so sharply it hurts. His blood runs cold, freezing in his veins, and he forgets how to breathe. "Harry," he breathes. "You plan to what, sacrifice him to get some kind of mystical power?" It disgusts him, how well he can see her do that — Harry would never even see it coming.

He'd walk into the slaughterhouse willingly, if Sybill told him to head there.

Sybill only hums, a small smile on her lips as she shakes her head minutely. "I thought so. That's why I went to so much trouble to… acquire him as a child."

"... You said you  _found_  him. That his parents gave him up to you."

"Did I?" Sybill asks, arching an eyebrow.

And… No, she didn't, Neville realizes. He only heard rumors of how Harry came to be in Sybil's company, as Harry himself disliked the subject — and why wouldn't he, if he believed his parents had preferred to abandon him to a stranger rather than keep him?

"You took him," Neville says flatly. "He was never abandoned, you kidnapped him, you raised him and now you're going to just kill him?" Neville feels a rage so potent he can almost taste it fill his veins — and then Sybill's next words have it run cold as a blizzard.

"I was, yes," she admits, tone showing no remorse. "But then… Then a true miracle happened.  _You_  showed up, Neville, put in my path by Providence and Luck themselves. You, who was also born at the end of the seventh month, and in the same year as Harry. You fit the prophecy just as well as he does.

"Better, even — I know you'll be the one to get me the Sight now, even if you don't believe."

"So you're going to kill me then."

Sybill laughs. "Now, don't take it that way. See it as a necessary sacrifice, for the betterment of Hogwarts. You love this place, don't you? You wanted to stay — don't you want it to prosper? Once I have your Sight, it will."

Neville is too disgusted to say anything. Instead, he looks away. He realized a long time ago that arguing with Sybill was useless — you can't argue with a lunatic.

When Sybill finally leaves, he's violently sick in the toilets.

But still, having a goal — a deadline — seems to rekindle his will to escape. He's cautious about starting to dig again, but in the end, the idea of finally tasting fresh air again overcomes his doubts.

It doesn't work any better than it had before, but it does help him fill his days with something more productive than staring at the wall, pacing and going out of his mind.

One time, he rushes at her when she opens the door. It's messy and stupid, a move fueled by desperation — and it fails. Of course it fails.

He manages to get halfway out of the door, catching a mere glimpse of a dark corridor that stretches for what seems like forever, before Sybill slams the door on his head with a surprising amount of force, and Neville stumbles back into his cell, his ears ringing.

He gets neither food nor water for so long he begins to fear she's forgotten him — that he starts to think he's going to die here.

He hallucinates — his parents, his grandmother…

Harry and Ginny, holding him up and carrying him out.

"W-wha's goin' on?" he asks. His mouth is so dry his tongue has trouble shaping the words — he isn't even sure he actually said anything out loud.

The body he's leaning against feels warm — Neville hasn't felt warmth in so long, he can't help but lean into it.

"Ginny, I don't think he's doing well," a voice that sounds like Harry whispers. "I think he's burning up."

A cool hand rests on his forehead and Neville moans. The hand is gone far too quickly and he shifts restlessly in his hold.

"Shit," a feminine voice says. "Shit. We need to get him out of here  _now_."

"I thought that was the plan?"

"Don't get smart with me and go scout the path while I hold Neville," she hisses back.

This hallucination is very odd — it's nice. None of his other hallucinations have been this nice — none of them have included Harry or Ginny either.

His head hurts so much that moving feels like dying — and that's with his eyes closed. He's not sure what opening them will do to him, but he has to risk it.

He has to know.

It's hard to see around the black spots in his vision at first, but a few blinks clear them up enough for him to see something.

Everything's blurry, but he'd recognize that hair and those eyes anywhere. "G'ny?"

The redhead blur at his side startles. "Neville? Oh thank god you're awake. How are you feeling?"

She bites her lips — he can tell. She always does it when she's nervous.

"What's going on?" he tries to ask, though he's pretty sure it comes out more as, "Was go'n'n?"

Mercifully, Ginny seems to get it instantly. "We're rescuing you, dummy." In the distance, someone webs, and Neville's heart aches painfully in his chest. "H'ry?"

Ginny huffs out a laugh, propping him higher on her shoulder and taking more of his weight. He has a feeling he'll be more embarrassed about this later, once he can think more clearly — and suddenly, the thought that he actually has a  _later_  that doesn't involve four walls and going crazy from loneliness hits him and he starts to giggle.

It hurts, but he can't stop.

It screeches to a halt as he remembers and he forces himself to tug on Ginny's shirt — but from her pained hiss, he got her hair instead. "S'ry."

"It's fine," she tells him softly; "Just keep walking."

And Neville wants to, he does, but he has to tell her first. He has to warn her. "G'ny, S'bill. S'bill." His eyes burn with frustration, but no matter how hard he tries, his mouth won't shape the words properly.

Ginny's hand is soft on his arm, but he  _burns_  from the touch anyway. "I know," she tells him. "We both know. I…" She licks her lips and swallows. From his position, Neville can track the movement of her throat as she does, and he does. "I found the tunnels by accident two weeks ago, and you know me, I couldn't help but explore them-" a weak, wet chuckle, "-but then I heard  _you_ , and  _Sybill_  was there, and, and."

She chokes on a sob. "Sorry, sorry," she says, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't — I shouldn't be crying. I should be angry — and I am, believe me, I am-" Neville definitely believes her, and who wouldn't, when she takes that dark, dangerous tone, "but god, I can't believe-" She cuts herself off with a strangled snarl and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," she repeats. Her voice is steadier, and it's only because Neville (miraculously still) knows her well that he can identify the tremors in it.

"'s fin'," he mumbles back.

"It's really not." Harry's voice rumbles with anger as he hauls up Neville by placing his other arm around his shoulders.

"The way's clear," he adds, probably speaking to Ginny as Neville feels her shift, her hair tickling against his cheek. It makes him smile — god, he's missed them so much.

They drag him out of that tunnel more than they help him walk, but honestly, as long as they did get him out, Neville wouldn't care if they'd made him crawl there.

He gets five seconds of pure brightness before his world shuts down, fading back to black.

But there are arms to catch him and soft voices crooning in his ears, so he lets himself go this time.

 _Please_ , he thinks as he faints,  _please still be there when I wake up_.

.

Hogwarts stands in the distance. Once, Ginny had loved it.

Once, she had called it home.

Now, she can't even look at it without feeling sick in her stomach, without wanting to make someone bleed and hurt for this — because Neville looks half dead and she has to keep checking his breathing to remind her that he is.

She had thought she'd be too late — she had thought she  _was_ , right up until the moment he had moaned when she and Harry had lifted him off the ground of that terrible room.

Ginny doesn't think she'd ever heard such a beautiful sound before. She could have cried — would have, if they hadn't been so pressed for time.

Because even now, Sybill could stumble upon them at any moment and ruin everything before they even get a chance to run, to  _escape_.

"He'll be fine."

Harry's voice startles her badly enough that she takes a wild swung at the air, but luckily Harry dodges just in time.

"Oh god." Ginny moans, staring at her hands in horror. "I don't know what came over me — I'm so sorry."

She seems to be saying this a lot today, and she hates it a little more every time.

"It's fine. You only just  _nearly_  took my head off."

Ginny's lips quirk up in a humorless smile for half a second before falling flat again. Her eyes drift back to Neville's still form again — he had been so painfully surprised to see her and Harry there for him, almost like he couldn't believe they were there.

Just the memory of it makes her chest ache.

"Come with us." The words slip out of her mouth but she doesn't regret them. Ginny's safe — thanks to some cut hair, a little blood and a big fire, everyone will think she's dead. It wouldn't even be hard to extend that protection to Harry — and everyone already thinks Neville left months ago. They'll never look for him.

"What?"

"You heard me." She raises her head and stares at Harry — at the boy she had once worshipped and thought was the kindest soul in the world, all because Sybill had told her he was. And somehow, Sybill's right on this one. Harry does have a kind soul — which is why she can't let him go back there, even if that had been their plan from the start.

"Ginny…" Harry looks pained as his eyes flicker back in Hogwarts' direction. "There are people there, good people, who don't know what Sybil's capable of. I grew up there, I know them all — they're  _my_  people. I can't just abandon them."

He starts to step away but Ginny shakes her head. Her hand shoots out again and Harry tries to duck — but this time she's not aiming for his face. Her fingers close against his wrist and she pulls him back.

"So we'll come back," she says, heart racing in her chest. At the corner of her eyes, she can see Neville, his chest rising and falling faintly in a beautifully simple rhythm, but her eyes are drowning in Harry's. They're so green, even more so from up close. She has to take a step back to remember how to breathe, but she keeps ahold of his wrist.

"We'll come back," she repeats, looking at him pleadingly. "They'll be safe in the meantime, you know they will. They're not the subject of some  _prophecy_."

It's the first time Ginny uses the word like this — as a curse, instead of the blessing she'd been taught it was.

"Sybill wouldn't hurt me," Harry replies, but his voice falters.

Something in Ginny's chest unwinds and she almost collapses with relief. But no… Not yet. They're not safe yet, and Harry hasn't even agreed to anything.

"Are you sure?" It hurts her to hurt him, the same way it would hurt her to hurt Neville — but this pain is necessary. "If Neville isn't there for her to 'sacrifice', are you sure she won't fall back to you? You were her first choice," she says, merciless.

"I…" Harry deflates. "No. No, I'm not," he says tiredly. I don't think I know anything anymore."

It pains her to see him hurt over this, but at the same time she's also selfishly glad that it means he'll be safe and away from that place.

That all three of them will be safe.

They stand there in silence for a few minutes before they haul Neville back on his feet again. He stays unconscious this time and is all the heavier for it, but his breath comes in warm little puffs against Ginny's neck and she still wants to cry for how happy that makes her.

"If I don't go back," Harry points out as they set off, "we won't be able to get any supplies."

"It's alright," Ginny replies, mind already far away — back to another time, and to the last place she had called  _home_  before the disaster that was Hogwarts happened. "I know a place where we can go."

"You do? Where?"

In any other situation, she would laugh at how incredulous Harry sounds. But here, carrying their starved, beaten up friend, she only smiles a little.

"Home."


End file.
